


vespertine

by cmc



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i just wanted them being cute n snuggly ok, next to nothing happens in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9802184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmc/pseuds/cmc
Summary: Paul showed up that evening, looking a bit ruffled and hungry but okay. Not dead. All limbs in tact.Daryl had taken one look at him and thought,fuck this fucking asshole. I’m never leaving his dumb ass again.So he didn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick little drabble I wrote to try to drag myself out of writer's block. saw one of those one-sentence prompt list thingies that float around tumblr and based this one off of "tell me a secret."

“Tell me a secret.”

They’re lying in bed in their little trailer at the Hilltop. _Their_  trailer, now, not just Paul’s - it’s official. After a few months of the long distance thing (long distance before was hard enough already, long distance in the apocalypse was almost fucking impossible), the “pretending we don’t care about each other as much as we do because if we do care about each other that much then Something Bad will happen” thing, the “we’re both really fucking bad at this shit so let’s just take it slow” thing, it finally became the “what the fuck is wrong with us let’s just stop being stubborn assholes and actually _be together”_ thing. So they are.

There was an Incident, because of course there was. There always is. A herd, a gun low on ammo, the whereabouts of one long-haired, part-time martial artist, part-time thief unknown for two days. Daryl had a fit when Maggie told him, when he showed up at the Hilltop for a regular visit with Carl and Tara in tow and Paul wasn’t there because he hadn’t shown back up. He and Sasha had gotten separated. She didn’t see which way he went. Maggie spent the next few hours trying to talk Daryl out of going to look for him - he would be back, he would. He’s fine. He knew what he was doing. He’d be back.

Paul showed up that evening, looking a bit ruffled and hungry but okay. Not dead. All limbs in tact.

Daryl had taken one look at him and thought, _fuck this fucking asshole. I'm never leaving his dumb ass again._

So he didn’t.

Well, he does. Sometimes. Obviously. Spending every waking second in each other’s presence would be ridiculous. They were both giant loners, two huge fans of independence over here. Paul still liked to do his own thing, Daryl still liked to do his own thing, it’s just that now they were doing their own thing in the same vicinity of each other every day. And arguing about who gets to sit on the not lumpy part of the couch when they’re reading. And having a lot more sex. 

It’s late, and it’s cool out. They’ve got the duvet tucked around their chins. One of Paul’s hands found his under the covers and is resting comfortably on top of his own. The blanket is covering half of Paul’s face, and he looks like a little kid at a sleepover - you can’t see his beard, and his stupid huge eyes are big and blue and green and impossible. 

There are a lot of secrets Daryl could tell him. They don’t tell each other everything. A lot, most things, but not everything. Daryl could tell Paul he likes his hair longer because he's self-conscious about his forehead. He could tell Paul he only wears black and grey but his real favorite color is green. He could tell Paul he doesn’t actually believe the state of Delaware exists.

He could tell Paul about his dad. About what he did. About what he didn’t do. About his mom. About Merle, when he left, when he came back, when he left again, when he came back again. When he died. 

He could tell Paul sometimes he thinks he’s going to wake up back in Georgia and none of this will have happened. The dead never got up and started walking around, and he just got really drunk or high one night or took some messed up shit and this was all a hallucination. He’d still be a piece of shit redneck in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, nothing to do, nowhere to go in life. That in some ways the end of the world was the best thing that ever happened to him.

He could tell Paul he’s never loved anyone before him. And that no one has ever loved him like Paul does. That sometimes he looks at Paul and wants to burst into tears because he never thought he would get to have this. He always thought there was something inherently wrong with him, how everyone else could do relationships and normal socializing things but he was always last, always slower than everyone, just getting off the block while everyone else was already crossing the finish line. That Paul, sarcastic, kind, dry, brave, deadly, beautiful Paul would feel the same way. Would want to risk being hurt, risk having his heart torn out if something happened to one or either of them, because this was worth it - even if all that pain was to come, this was worth it.

He could tell Paul all those things. He reaches his other hand out, moves the covers off the lower half of Paul’s face. Runs his hand through Paul’s hair.

Instead, he says, “I like your hair.”

Paul stares at him for a moment before he rolls his eyes. He’s smiling, though. “That’s not a secret,” he says. “Everyone knows that.”

“They do?”

“Afraid so.”

“Hmmmm,” Daryl hums in response. “Alright then. One time I saw a chupacabra.”

Paul blinks. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Nice,” he says. “Wanna hear my theories about mermaids?”

“Mermaids?” Daryl asks.

“Ninety-five percent of the ocean is unexplored, Daryl. You can’t tell me they’re not down there.”

Daryl smiles, the one he only does when it’s just them, the one he knows Paul loves.

He’ll tell him all the other stuff later. They have time.

“Go on, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](http://lawofaverages.tumblr.com/) and scream about these fuckheads with me.


End file.
